Entrapment
by ch19777
Summary: "This should have stopped months ago. Not being with Jane, but having to meet him in secret in shabby motel rooms." AU, established Jane/Lisbon with a twist


**Title: **Entrapment

**Characters:** Lisbon/Jane, and someone else

**Genre:** AU, Angst/Romance

**Spoilers:** None

**Prompt: **I'd rather be causing the chaos, Than living at the sharp end of this knife (Gabrielle Aplin - Home)

**Notes: **Written for the Paint It Red May monthly challenge.

**Warnings: **If you're looking for uncomplicated fluff, this isn't the fic for you.

* * *

_"And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. " _

_- Friedrich Nietzsche_

_**San Francisco, California; Lisbon's apartment**_  
_**May 19, 2003; 6:23 a.m.  
**_

His back is facing her when Lisbon opens her eyes. He turned away from her during the night, unconsciously – or maybe even deliberately – deciding that he is unable to stand being so close to her.

Again, she wonders if he suspects anything.

He has a liver spot on his left shoulder. An almond-shaped, coffee-colored patch of once kissable skin. She reaches out, traces it callously with her fingertip. In an ideal world, she'd be able to leave him for good.

But it's not quite time for that yet; she can only go away for a day.

Cautious not to wake him, she gets up.

She has a plane to catch and can't risk that he's stopping her.

Or asks any more questions.

She told him that she has to attend an important meeting in Los Angeles. Just _how_ important it really is to her emotional health, he never needs to know.

So she gets dressed.

Writes him a short note.

Hides her agitation behind mundane words.

Then she leaves him behind.

Alone in her bed that became theirs during the past two years.

ღღღ

_**Santa Monica, California; Pavilions Motel**_  
_**May 20, 2003; 5:52 a.m.**_

Cold water flows down her thighs as Lisbon hastily cleans herself at dawn. Tries to wash off the revived sense of guilt together with Jane's scent.

Ruggedly, she towels herself. Her skin burns, aches, but pain is exactly what she deserves.

This should have stopped months ago. Not being with Jane, but having to meet him in secret in shabby motel rooms. Feeling guiltier every time she sees him. Tonight, no matter what she'll find at home upon her return, she'll finally make things right. Soon life will be so much easier.

Lisbon puts on her bra, picked up from the floor by the bed before escaping to the bathroom. After disentangling herself from Jane's embrace. Clandestinely. Distraught by his too intimate closeness. She deems it best not to wake him up before leaving, knows that she needs to be as rational as possible today for her plan to work.

But Jane doesn't play by the rules; yearningly he studies her half-naked body as she returns to the bedroom. Unmoving, but deeply moved. Lisbon turns away, refuses to become absorbed in his affection. Hastily she gets fully dressed, sure that behind her back Jane undresses her with his eyes.

When she faces him again, her bottom lip is bitten bloody in the desperate need to resist him. She only allows herself a quick glance at him, yet can't avoid noticing his sadness.

She has to catch her flight, she tells him. Actually, she doesn't have to be at the airport for hours. Hours that she could spend making love to him again. Or finally telling him the whole truth about her crumbling relationship with her fiancé.

Jane knows that she still has time and it breaks her heart that he simply puts up with her lie. He's sitting at the edge of the bed now.

Naked.

Vulnerable.

Hurt.

She contemplates kissing him again before leaving, but is certain that then she wouldn't be able to go at all. So she grabs her bag and reaches for the door handle. The request to stay with him, that she secretly hopes for, doesn't come. Only his breath, suddenly hot at the back of her neck. The tiny hairs in her ear vibrate as he speaks the words that only sink in when she is standing alone outside in the hallway.

Jane warned her to be careful tonight. As if knowing what he is talking about. What she is going through right now. She feels flustered, yet strangely calm at the same time. Because the tone of Jane's voice is enough to convince her that he'll love her, no matter what.

Lisbon forces herself to drive straight to the airport. To be as unfeeling as possible. Waiting for her flight, she mostly succeeds. Only twice she believes to spot Jane's blond curls in the crowd of people. She is composed when she boards the plan, is able to block out any thoughts of the man she just left behind and the one who's waiting for her at home. It's only when she sits down and absentmindedly pockets her boarding card, that she is overcome by emotions again. She holds the engagement ring, kept in her pants pocket all night for Jane's sake, between thumb and forefinger. Remembers the moment she was presented with it in a velvet jewelry box. Hears herself agree to a wedding that even back then she didn't want to happen anymore.

Briefly she toys with the absurd idea to leave the plane. To go back to the motel. Throw the ring into a trash can on the way. Shower a surprised Jane with kisses and never look back. Stop thinking like a cop and simply be a woman in love. But the doors already close to prevent her escape and a flight attendant orders her to fasten her seat belt.

She surrenders; the ring slides back onto her finger.

ღღღ

_**San Francisco, California; Lisbon's apartment**_  
_**May 20, 2003; 6:07 p.m.**_

The apartment is empty when Lisbon arrives. She tries to convince herself that this doesn't mean anything. It is still fairly early. He probably needs to work longer. Is caught in a traffic jam, maybe. He'll be home soon and then they will talk. She'll tell him that the wedding won't happen. That she fell in love with someone else. Their relationship will end in a civilized way. Well, maybe not civilized, but at least not as horrendous as his current absence suggests.

She notices that the morning paper is still in the mailbox; he always reads it before leaving for work.

He left his cell phone behind; usually he's practically glued to the thing.

The first wave of real panic hits Lisbon. The past few months she tried to convince herself that her suspicions are groundless. A mere coincidence. But if anything, she's a good cop and if she's concerned, there is usually a good reason for it. She calls his work number, the only connection left to him, and learns that he quit his job weeks ago. Still pressing the phone to her ear when the person on the other end of the line is long gone, her head is spinning.

She thinks about going out looking for him. Trying to stop the events that she might have set into action last night. But where can she start? And how could she ever explain to her superiors that she didn't do so earlier? It's probably better to keep quiet about her possible personal involvement in the biggest case of her career. Being banned from the investigation due to suspicion of bias won't help anyone. And she would look pretty stupid, if everything _will_ turn out to be harmless after all.

Pacing restlessly around the apartment, she waits for the phone to ring and call her into work early. By the time she is exhausted enough to fall asleep on the couch, she is absolutely certain that her fiancé is a cold-blooded killer.

ღღღ

_**San Francisco, California; Lisbon's apartment**_  
_**May 21, 2003; 4:12 a.m.**_

A bad dream awakes her. Fumbling for her phone in the darkness, she remembers that the nightmare she had is resembling her life all too closely.

There's only one missed call.

Jane.

In the middle of the night.

Despite it all, she can't help smiling at the thought of him. She longs to hear his voice and right now, in her still sleepy and vulnerable state, she is ready to tell him everything. Maybe he could even help. Jane knows things, is able to make connections that she herself isn't able to see. Maybe together they even could have saved lives, if only she wouldn't have been too proud and scared to trust him completely. Her call goes directly to his voice mail.

Never in her life did she feel lonelier.

After taking a moment to ponder her options, she decides to head into work early.

ღღღ

_**San Francisco, California; San Francisco Police Department**_  
_**May 21, 2003; 5:37 a.m.**_

Surprisingly, not a single felony happened in her jurisdiction during the night. Her colleagues seem bored, yet also thankful for the unexpected break. The normalcy of the office gets to Lisbon; maybe she was wrong after all. She begins to feel a sense of relief, pictures herself telling Jane later today of the ridiculous thoughts she entertained during the past couple of months.

But there is still the fact that her fiancé disappeared without a trace. She just contemplates whether or not she should report him missing, when Sam Bosco calls her into his office. By the time she sits down across from him, she is barely able to conceal her now full-blown panic. Letting down Bosco, her mentor and friend, is another possible consequence of her plan that she didn't take into account.

Even more so she is confused when Bosco smiles at her and tells her that he recommended her for a promotion. Senior Agent. Serious Crimes Unit. CBI. All those words together sound too good to be true. Momentarily forgetting her worries, she can't help feeling flattered and exited. The timing isn't ideal at all, but she worked towards this since joining the police force and she is sure to deserve it. But,

"Why?"

Bosco laughs and she forces herself to join in; pretending to be fine comes naturally to her these days.

"And I thought we already established what a great cop you are," Bosco states, probably assuming she was fishing for compliments.

"The thing is, Teresa, the CBI is taking the Smiley Face Killer case away from us. I know," he preempts her protest, "but we really have no choice here. At least they had the sense to request one of us to lead their investigation."

There it is again, the feeling of dread. Her mouth is dry. She coughs slightly to be able to speak.

"What... happened?"

A moment later she wishes she hadn't dared to ask. She tries to blank out Bosco's voice as long as possible. Doesn't need to hear that her fiancé doesn't restrict his killing spree to the San Francisco area any longer. Doesn't want to learn of his recent trip to Santa Monica. Isn't interested in knowing that she was right all along.

"Victim's name is Angela Ruskin Jane, 31 years old."

As if she needs confirmation. As if the knot in her stomach didn't already give away the identity of the victim.

"Her husband found her when he came by to pick up their daughter. The kid was at a neighbor's which probably saved her life. They've been separated for a few months now, so naturally the husband was the prime suspect until they figured out the connection with our smiley face murders. He's also got an alibi. Not airtight, but enough. A maid at a motel confirmed he's been there with a female companion at the time his wife died, but he refuses to reveal the woman's identity. Either way, he's not been here in San Francisco during any of our murders."

The first thing that she consciously registers is the fact that Jane never told her that he left his wife. Funny how the mind always finds a way to distract us from our own misdeeds by excoriating someone else's. It doesn't take her long though to recognize what a terrible mistake _she _made. All along she did nothing but playing for time. Calling the feeling she had suspicion when really she _knew_.

All those murders, coinciding with her nights spent with Jane.

All those past weeks, disgusted by her fiancé's touch.

All those moments, feeling that she was watched by him.

And yet she stayed with him, was naive enough to believe she could lull him into a false sense of security. Would be able to collect evidence against him and get rewarded with his glorious arrest. Thought she was the one calling the shots. Didn't think twice to use Jane as a part of the final test last night, that her fiancé all too gladly passed. All the time, she was simply too scared to confront him. Deemed it better to be the cause for his actions than one of those suffering the effects.

"Teresa?"

Noticing Bosco's concern, she almost blurts everything out. Instead, refusing to make him an accomplice, she just accepts her new job to clean up the mess she created.

ღღღ

_**San Francisco, California; Lisbon's apartment**_  
_**May 21, 2003; 6:32 p.m.**_

It's a first that she draws her gun when entering her own apartment. Everything looks normal, the way she left it in the morning, but then she notices that all of his belongings are gone. The apartment is clean. Too clean. The smell of detergents is hanging in the air. Every surface shines. All evidence of his mere existence is obliterated.

Upstairs in the bedroom, she lowers her gun and sinks into a chair. He didn't bother leaving her a farewell note; that probably would have been too ordinary for him. Instead there's a teasing invitation to catch him. She is pretty sure it is human blood on the wall, but then again she doesn't really want to know.

Nevertheless, she becomes nauseous when she paints over the smiley face. Forces herself to continue anyway. Nobody can ever see this. And she also has no longer time for irrelevant feelings like this; there's a serial killer out there that she needs to catch.

Packing a few essential things into a suitcase, she realizes that all the other stuff she leaves behind doesn't mean anything to her. She decides to book into a hotel to bridge the time until her flight to Sacramento in the morning.

In this tainted place, full of lies, she can't stay one second longer.

From her car, she tries Jane's cell phone again. Feels guilty that she is relieved when he's still not available. She has no clue what to tell him.

That the blood of his estranged wife is on her hands?

That she played with fire and burned everything to the ground?

At least the man she once loved spared the kid. At least she didn't cause an innocent little girl's death as well. She turns this into her mantra, repeats it in her mind again and again, until she feels numb enough to believe that this actually makes things less tragic.

ღღღ

_**Sacramento, California; California Bureau of Investigation**_  
_**May 28, 2003; 10:12 a.m.**_

From her office, Lisbon watches her new subordinates. They're nice people, good cops, but still she is glad that she has her own separate space. Doesn't have to mingle with them if she rather wants to be alone. There are phone calls to make, research to do, that she doesn't want them to know about.

They've studied all the case files thoroughly, are up to date with the facts. That is, except for the one thing that she's keeping from them. She can't let them get too close to her web of secrets. Can't let them find out about the search for the man she almost married, but who now seems to have vanished off the face of the earth. For some odd reason, they've changed his nickname from 'Smiley Face Killer' to 'Red John'. This doesn't make it easier for Lisbon; on more than one occasion she had to stop herself from telling them that 'Red Frederic' would be the correct term.

This morning there was a silver lining for Lisbon though when she finally located Jane. She talked to his doctor, who implied that contact with a friend will do him good. That it could help him to be a father for his traumatized daughter again, too.

She still feels guilty, more so than ever before, as she realizes that she wouldn't have been able to act differently toward Jane. Even if she had known right away of the consequences their ongoing affair triggered, she still wouldn't have been able to stay away from him. Still isn't; even though she is afraid to see him again, she also needs him. But now, for several reasons.

Once they are reconciled, she'll confide in him, hoping that he'll direct his anger at the actual killer and not at her. Maybe it will be best to leave out certain details. She knows that he is vulnerable, but also malleable right now. Besides, she is convinced that having a task will do him good. Minelli, her new boss, might need a little bit more convincing than Jane, but she already discovered that he has a soft spot for her.

She picks up the phone to tell him that she wants to add Patrick Jane to her team as a consultant.

ღღღ

_**Modesto, California; Thousand Oaks Park**_  
_**August 23, 2003; 2:44 p.m.**_

Considering the circumstances, Jane and Lisbon do look quite happy, the man hiding in the shadows concludes. Battered by life and loss, sure. And without a doubt also shocked by the sight of a mutilated body in bright daylight and in a public place. But beneath it all, they seem radiant with joy.

And of course they are; the man is absolutely certain that Jane and Lisbon are still sleeping together. If both being in a relationship didn't stop them, CBI regulations surely won't. The glance that Lisbon darts at Jane before going to talk to the coroner speaks volumes. It's full of love and commitment and the man can't recall one single instance when she looked that way at _him_. Not even in the early days. Not even before she started screwing around with Jane behind his back.

The man finds it pretty amusing to discover that Lisbon still thinks she is in control. Over her life, her career. Her relationship even. How deliciously horrible it will be for her when she finally understands that she never was. When the day will come that he'll make sure Jane keeps his end of the bargain. Taking Lisbon's life in order to save his precious little daughter's is really not too much to ask for, is it?

The man is in no hurry though. The closer Jane and Lisbon get, the more painful the culmination of their relationship will be for both of them later.

Jane tenderly places his hand on the small of Lisbon's back and the man brings out his cell phone.

"Keep up the good work," he types and sends the message to Jane as a quick reminder of his existence. Although, the smiley face carved into the victim's abdominal skin, likely detected by the coroner by now, probably would have been enough. Jane looks up, panic-stricken. The man slips away, whistling a happy tune when he reaches the end of the park.

Life is marvelous when other people's existence is your personal playground.

_**The End**_


End file.
